


Brothers Born For Adversity

by plutonianshores



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Hate Sex, M/M, Sibling Incest, mentions of parent/child incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-29
Updated: 2015-08-29
Packaged: 2018-04-17 22:14:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4683320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plutonianshores/pseuds/plutonianshores
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ronan and Declan have always been a trainwreck, the sort you can't tear yourself away from.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Brothers Born For Adversity

**Author's Note:**

  * For [gonergone](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gonergone/gifts).



> Title stolen and altered from Proverbs 17:17, because what's Lynchcest without a little blasphemy?

_Now_

Declan corners him in the public restroom after the burial, forcing him up against a wall.

“We’re at a fucking funeral,” Ronan hisses, hooking a thumb under Declan’s waistband.

“You think I care?” Declan loosens Ronan’s tie, scraping his teeth over his neck. “You think _he’d_ care, after what he did with us? He’s probably watching us with a hard-on.”

Ronan answers by untucking his brother’s shirt to scratch down his back, hard enough to leave marks. Becky or Tina or whoever he’s sleeping with now will see them, and Declan will have to explain. Or maybe he’ll just put it down to the last girl—he’ll dump Becky-Tina-whoever soon enough anyway, so it’s not like they’ll care for long. None of his girls last, and it always comes back to Ronan marking him up.

“Hey!” Declan gasps, glaring like Ronan knew he would.

Ronan grins. “You want me to stop?”

“I want you to watch it. Just because _you’re_ not getting laid outside of this doesn’t mean that Betsy won’t—” He cuts off when Ronan bites his shoulder.

“What kind of a fucking name is Betsy?”

Declan doesn’t answer. By this point he’s too busy sucking a bruise into Ronan’s neck, just low enough that he can cover it with a popped collar. They’ve got this down to an art. They’re careful—Ronan’s thought about what it’d be like if they didn’t have to be, but he prefers it like this. Sneaking around, jerking each other off in the bathroom, leaving bitemarks and bruises only where they can’t be seen, it all adds a thrill.

Then Declan finally manages to get a hand under Ronan’s waistband, and it gets difficult to think. Everything becomes a blur of sensation: the rough drag of skin against skin, Declan’s stubble scraping his cheek, the thump of footsteps in the sanctuary sending a thrill through his stomach.

He muffles a gasp against Declan’s chest, and Declan moans through the kiss he’s pressing to Ronan’s head. Ronan thrusts up into his hand, and grabs his ass. He wants to do more than just jerk each other off—how sick is it, that his father dies and one of his first thoughts is, _Maybe now I can fuck my brother_?

He shoves the thought of his father out of his head, concentrating on Declan’s fingers around his cock. He’d spent too much of today thinking about Niall.

Declan, without Niall: now _there’s_ a fucking joke. He only had Declan the way he did because of Niall. Their father had always been between them, and it had made Declan bitter and Ronan sharp. They’re stuck like this, kisses half-bites and fingers rough against skin. They’re never going to be normal brothers, and they’re never going to be normal lovers, and they’re never even going to be able to love each other without sharp edges. All they’ve got is each other—that’s what family and friends and assorted gawkers at the funeral have been telling them all day. Too bad they’re both such fucking wrecks.

 

_Then_

 Ronan woke up to his brother shaking him.

“Hey! Hey, you’re awake.”

Ronan glared at him. “Yeah, I am now.”

“Don’t get pissy. You were having a nightmare.”

It hadn’t been a nightmare. Ronan shifted his blankets, making sure Declan saw exactly what kind of dream it’d been.

He didn’t expect that much disgust, didn’t understand it until Declan said, “You were talking about Dad, you sick fuck. Wait, was this one of your—things?” He waved his arms around, frown deepening.

Ronan shook the last remnants of his dream (a hand tangled in his hair, warm shady light filtering through the trees, grass rubbing against his bare skin) from his head. He grinned at Declan. “What do you think?”

“That’s disgusting.” Declan’s hands curled into fists.

“You’re jealous.”

Instead of answering, Declan kissed him, all anger and teeth. His fingers dug into Ronan’s hips, hard enough that he’d have bruises tomorrow, but Ronan had managed to leave scratches down Declan’s sides, so he didn’t mind too much.

“Now he’s not the only one who’s had you,” Declan muttered into his neck. For the first time in a long time, he looked almost happy.

Why he didn’t keep his mouth shut, Ronan didn’t know. He could have left things alone, could have kept this fragile peace between them. But instead, he looked straight at Declan and said, “But I’m the only one he wants.”

It had been a game with him, how to make his brother hate him. And now he’d won, and everything was broken.

Declan kissed him again, almost hard enough to bruise. Ronan tugged him onto the bed, and they ended up jerking each other off, rough and quiet and wincing every time the bed creaked. Declan snuck back to his room before their parents woke up, leaving Ronan to stare at the ceiling and think about what he’d done.

There was always going to be this wall between them, of dreams and favorites and their father. They were never going to be normal. _Normal brothers didn’t jerk each other off at 2 am_ —but even without that, they hated each other more than brothers should.

It was too late to break the pattern. Ronan ran his tongue over his lips, imagining he could still taste Declan there. Too late to do anything but give into petty fights and angry kisses, and maybe he didn’t mind that.


End file.
